


reciprocal

by demizorua



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Smp, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, all internal monologue and such, i said okay sir but you're still an older brother by nature, is dream here? technically, more abstract kinda style, mostly canon sort of kind of maybe, no beta we die like technoblade never does, techno's chat is a character, technoblade said family dynamic isn't canon in dsmp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demizorua/pseuds/demizorua
Summary: Technoblade isn’t a fool. He might not be the best at handling touchy-feely situations, but he isn’tblind.He knows that Tommy had been going through a tough time ever since the Manberg Rebellion, what with the exile and stupid governmental conflicts. And he might be a violent anarchist with a penchant for orphan murder, but he’s not cruel.Orphan vendetta aside, no child deserves to suffer like Tommy has.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 649





	reciprocal

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know… _exactly_ what this is, tbh. I just really loved the moments of Techno wordlessly shifting his behavior to accommodate the traumatized child, _especially_ the "absolute reciprocity" bit, and I wanted to try writing something in full SMP canon; Techno not being related to Phil but still being an older brother by behavior, basically.
> 
> I just wanted to write something based on a bunch of clips I found (plus a comment I saw during a Techno livestream that called Tommy "the voices' blood prince") and this extended ramble is the result of that! Hopefully it's… mildly comprehensible fjdjfjdjfh!!

Technoblade hadn't been as upset to see Tommy as he had acted in the beginning. Really, he was more exasperated than anything; after the exhausting day he'd just had he _really_ wasn't up for dealing with an obnoxious teenager on top of it all. And, really, could anyone blame him? Fighting for his life, trying to rescue his horse from bloodthirsty hypocrites, watching his oldest and closest friend get wrongfully imprisoned and _shot at,_ feeling the excruciating pain of death at the hands of a falling hunk of indiscriminate iron only to be harshly yanked back into the land of the living as his very tendons were wrung from his bones, fighting some ambitious politician in full gear with nothing but a _pickaxe,_ fleeing for his life through a winding catacomb of musty sewers, all to make it back to his secluded, _no longer hidden_ home only to find a teenager camping out in his basement like some kind of homeless raccoon.

Anyone would be tired at that point.

It was late. He was tired. His items had been stolen. The voices wouldn't stop chattering about dreams and raccoons and blood princes. And to top it all off, his meticulously organized chests were a disaster zone, meaning he wouldn't be able to sleep until he managed to completely fix all of them.

So, he'd reacted… suboptimally, to put it lightly. People had always told him he came off harsh and disinterested—he called it a "naturally flat affect." Phil preferred to call it his "resting bitch voice." Either way, it hadn't bothered Tommy any of the times they'd spoken in the past, from Business Bay to Pogtopia, with the spitfire teen always snarking back with infinitely more energy, so Techno hadn't been too concerned with keeping up appearances for the thieving kid. He'd interacted with him enough, they knew each other… sort of, so he figured he could afford to be a bit more lax.

Which is why it had come as a sharp surprise when Tommy folded in on himself at the unintentionally accusatory sounding question, shoulders hunching over as he hurriedly stalked away from Techno in the midnight snow. He'd quickly bounced back with a candid insult, but there was still something… hollow about it. Something _wrong._

Still, Techno liked to consider himself fairly nonjudgmental, at least on the surface. So he had opted to ignore Tommy's uncharacteristic reaction, carrying on with their typical back and forth banter even as the voices put murmured words to his inner concern.

I mean, the kid _had_ been exiled and fully isolated from everyone he ever knew just a little while ago. Whatever internal problems _absolutely_ resulted from that weren't any of Techno's concern.

(That didn't stop his brow from furrowing when Tommy caught himself in a Dream-focused feedback loop, the disjointed rambles sounding suspiciously like a desperate justification for abhorrent behavior.)

It wasn't his concern.

* * *

It was _very much_ his concern.

That was the only thing that had been on Techno's mind as he watched Tommy stare at the carefully labeled chest with quickly dawning horror. He'd been slow to realize it, _god,_ he'd been an obstinate bastard, hadn't he, but Tommy was even _more_ not okay than Techno thought he was.

It'd been easy to brush off the constant search for reassurance— _a simple "how are you doing, Tommy" and the kid's face had lit up like he'd just been handed the key to eternal life; if only it hadn't taken eight blatant hints for Techno to catch on, curse his social ineptitude_ —as typical attention-seeking behavior. It was practically second nature to blame the incessant golden apple consumption— _golden flesh gripped tight in calloused fingers, the smallest of tremors running through Tommy's body as he clutched the fruits close to his chest, eyes aflame with fear, spine curled like cornered prey desperately seeking a modicum of safety_ —on Tommy's frustrating need to push his metaphorical buttons.

(And literal ones as well, it seemed, as thinly veiled want gave way to startled delight at the smallest incline of his head, an invitation, a warm welcome offered behind layers of ashen cloaked skulls and sarcastically delivered metaphors, _"welcome home, Theseus"_ —)

It was less simple to ignore the more… startling behaviors, but Techno had still done so, however foolishly. He'd grown used to tuning out the clamouring swarm of voices demanding blood, so he hardly needed to focus on ignoring the whispers which spoke of torment and abuse. Tommy had always been lanky as long as Techno had known him, so he could turn a blind eye to the worrying hollow of his cheeks, the feverish hoarding of food in a way only famine can teach. The teenager was energetic to a fault, so Techno easily excused the frantic mania as ordinary behavior and not born of a desperation to hide from haunting thoughts.

It was normal, it was expected, it was fine, fine, _fine,_ until all at once it wasn't, and Techno couldn't ignore the blatant problems any longer.

"What happened here, Tommy," Techno had said, neutral tone not belaying the visceral undercurrent of fear which clung to him. The stuttering breath and trembling limbs of the typically infallible boy were all too familiar to Techno, but seeing them on Tommy, on this _child_ he'd practically watched Phil _raise_ made Techno's throat run dry.

You don't pass through a battlefield without carrying your fair share of scars. Techno _knew_ that, had experienced it first-hand, but some naïve part of him had believed that the spitfire son of his old war buddy would somehow escape these tragedies immune.

It was a naïvety he could no longer afford.

Tommy ripped his way past the blackstone walls before Techno could utter another breath of assurance, panicked desperation spilling forth from the boy's chapped lips. Techno was quick to follow, stamping down his own panic as he sped after heaving lungs and stumbling feet that tore down the jagged sewer halls.

"What _happened here,_ Tommy," Techno had insisted, fearing the worst but not wanting to believe it, "why are you so scared of that room?"

Dream had taken him to that room. Dream had led Techno there, had led him there to escape gnashing teeth and squinting eyes, and now a 16 year old boy was fleeing the cavern like a sinner from the devil. Techno was observant, had picked up on the history piled behind the green man's posture, but even without that Dream's affiliation with the room would immediately become suspect upon witnessing Tommy's reaction.

The chests in the room were _labeled._ A chest was labeled with _Tommy's name._ The crumbling walls were hollow, and Dream was clearly familiar with the backdoor caverns lining the blackened brick walls.

Something had happened in that room.

Something had happened to _Tommy._

A part of his past, the boy had said while sprinting down the narrow sewer path, one he's not yet ready to uncover. Techno was quick to reassure the panicked stammering—alright, alright Tommy, it's fine, it's fine. No one just recovers in a day, Tommy, _he should know,_ healing is a long process, _far, far too long and painful,_ it's fine, it's fine, you'll be fine—as he finally coaxed the frightened teenager to a stop, but the next words out of Tommy's mouth had made his heart stop and conscience scream.

"Where's Dream, where's Dream," he'd begged in a fearful voice, sending ice through Technoblade's veins. The voices had _wailed,_ so venomous and hate-filled— _Dream, Dream did this,_ they had insisted, _he hurt Tommy, he broke him, he broke him down so we must break **him,**_ the violent wishes casting Techno away, _protect him, keep him safe, don't let Dream know, make Dream pay, make him **hurt,**_ and like a fool he had ignored their thirst, _blood, blood, **blood for the blood god**_ —that Techno nearly missed the next bone-chilling statement, "I need my friend Dream!"

Emotions had never been Technoblade's strong suit, whether his own or someone else's, so the sudden whirlwind of crushing empathy and blinding rage was almost dizzying in its intensity. His response was probably too harsh, too impersonal, too callous, but the sudden wave of anger, searing in its intensity, kept Techno from being as soft as was probably called for. You don't need him, you don't need Dream, he's the one who exiled you, he did th _is, he did this to Tommy, he needs to pay, pay in **blood, blood for the blood god—!!!**_

Even if Tommy had tried to brush off the breakdown, tried to move on like nothing had happened, _just forget about it,_ Techno wouldn't. He couldn't just forget.

_Blood for the blood god._

* * *

Standing across from Dream, the green bastard strutting around his house like he was even remotely welcome there, Techno had to mentally restrain himself from snapping at the voices to _shut the hell up._ He settled for thinking as loudly as he could manage, they were _fine,_ Phil had taught him to make those potions, the box was out of the way, it was _fine._ Based off of how loud the ensuing protests were, the voices didn't believe him.

Techno wasn't entirely sure he believed himself.

It's not like he'd pulled the plan off without a hitch. After a stressful trip for resources—they just went to get resources, how did he _lose Tommy,_ the poor kid's trauma revolves around being alone and Technoblade managed to lose him in a _flat, open plain_ —Dream had abruptly announced his impending visit, leaving hardly any time for Techno to prepare. The stress and shouting were panic-fueled, but trauma was never that discerning, and his… less than stellar wording certainly hadn't helped matters.

(Blue eyes going wide, breath hitching as Tommy took an instinctive step backwards, his eyes clouding over for a brief moment; that was all it took to cement in Techno's mind that he had fucked up. _Dream took his armor, blew it up, kept him helpless, alone, **afraid**_ —

While the voices didn't judge his mistake, Techno certainly did.)

And now Tommy was crammed in a box barely big enough for him to fit inside— _trapped behind a piston, panicked words spewing from his mouth like a viper's toxins,_ —while his tormentor, exiler, _abuser_ traipsed around, speaking as if Tommy was a commodity to be traded. Rooting through Techno's belongings, casting a judgemental eye over planks boarded to the crumbling basement wall, skepticism lacing his posture as Techno longed for the sight of red splashed across a green expanse.

_Blood, blood, the voices demand blood_ —

Techno couldn't help himself; his lips curled in a cruel, sarcastic sneer, tusks peeking over the edge, flashing dangerously in threat. Owe him, Dream said. Techno _owed_ him. The impudence, the unmitigated _gall_ of the man to insinuate such a thing; Techno had to laugh, or else he would scream, loud and violent and furious. As if Techno would ever do the man a favor when a young, 16 year old boy hid in a crate in his house, traumatized, preferring to face his claustrophobia than the man who tore him to shreds.

"Don't worry, Dream," Techno said, the cruel howl of icy wind wailing outside, "I am a person who believes in _absolute reciprocity."_

If the tyrant picked up on the thinly veiled meaning behind his carefully selected words, he didn't show it, lingering only a few minutes longer before disappearing into the biting blizzard of ice and snow.

As Tommy crawled out of the cramped hiding space, invisible trembling hands silently latching onto Technoblade's cloak, Techno urged the voices to quiet, to temper their bloodlust as he passed dried meat to the much too thin boy. He sat beside Tommy into the early hours of the morning, and the voices faded into a passive, focused hum, content to watch over their blood prince, to protect him.

_Patience,_ they said, chanting in one cohesive murmur, _patience. Today is rest, today is protection. Today is safety, today is calm, but soon, soon, soonsoonsoonsoon—_

For once, Techno did not quiet them, did not lament their persistent goal. Rather, he found himself agreeing, their shared motives clear. He owed Dream a favor, after all.

It would only be right for him to repay it in full.

_Blood for the blood god._

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays gamers have a pog champ winter and such!! subscribe to technoblade!


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